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Chapter II
Near Capital was enormous even three hundred
years ago, and to a child of five it became a gigantic, if menacing, playground.
Freed of any constraints with which parents keep their children tied, I
began to frolic and romp in my own reserved way about the city. To
do anything wrong was a heart-rushing brush with chance. To lurk
about places where no child should ever be gave the thrill of the forbidden.
I found myself beyond enjoying this new freedom, I relished it. It
became the single joy of my life.
But hunger is a necessity
that cannot be denied for long. My sack of provisions ran out not
two days after Stephen had left me alone upon the bustling street.
And no money was available to me. It seemed that with the constraint
of parents one also received the reward of shelter and food; not necessarily
love, but survival. So I began to scavenge for food. But as
decadent as the Great Citadel may appear, I have seen better pickings left
by buzzards.
I had made myself
a tiny home, more like a nest, in an ill-used alley behind a tavern that
saw more empty merriment and drunkenness than I could have ever imagined.
After perhaps a week, no more than two, I wandered the streets delirious
with hunger. In my delirium I had wandered away from my "nest" and
found myself staring blankly at the iron bars of a gate that separated
me from some other street that extended well beyond my view. I leaned
heavily upon the bars and gazed in insane wonderment at the dingy and stinking
marvel that lay beyond the gate.
"Ya wants in, kid?"
came a gruff voice to my side.
I looked to see an
immensely overweight Watchman who was not much cleaner than the streets
which lay beyond the gate. I nodded slowly to his question, something
weakly marveling inside me that this man was going to let me in to this
incredible place beyond the gate.
With a grunt he lifted
the heavy bolt that kept the gate secure and pushed it just a pace ajar.
It creaked horribly, had I not been so weak with hunger I would have covered
my ears to guard them from the horrible noise.
"There ya go, kid."
Still I remained standing
there, gazing down the filthy street that lay before me like some incredible
promise.
"Well, are ya goin'
or what?"
Prompted by the Watchman's
angry tone I took one step inside, and then another. Step by slow,
delirious step I made my way down that street of promises.
I learned later that
promises are often another word for lies. But that is what the Dark
Quarter was built upon. With those first few steps deceit began to
become part of my life.
The Dark Quarter's
existence is an enormous joke. One day, many hundreds of years ago,
when the Great Citadel was nothing more than a small city, some mortal
fool thought to contain all the thieves and beggars and dregs of society
by putting a wall about them. To this day I smirk in my mind and
shake my head at the absurdity of the idea: to contain the darkness of
thieves!
There is a permanent
and chilling shadow that is cast upon the whole Dark Quarter. An
area larger - even then - than most large villages was permeated with a
darkness that was nearly absolute. The thought of it now it almost...
pleasing. I thrive upon such darkness. But then...
A small of child of
five years makes his way down a dingy, shadow-infested street. His
clothes are filthy and torn, his face smudged with dirt and mud, and his
are eyes wide in delirious wonderment. The sun is setting slowly,
ever so slowly for those who await its death, and the shadows deepen with
every passing second. The child shivers as the bitter, sharp breeze
warns him of the coming winter. He pulls his tattered rags of clothing
closer about himself.
The street seems to extend into a dark and mysterious eternity.
From only the occasional building, lights break into the growing darkness
on the street; most are pitch black inside, and sad. The child looks
from side to side, still insanely wondering at it all. Is this what
he had heard so much about? Is this the grandeur and greatness of
the city? Is this heaven?
Another breeze buffets
the child, causing him to lose his balance. He falls into the gutter
on one side, the waste carried there splashing with a strange silence onto
the cold street. The child rests there, his breathing light and rapid,
eyes still wide with bewilderment. He cannot feel his toes, his fingers.
But it is not cold. No, he cannot feel anything at all. And
soon the numbness of his flesh matches the blackness before his eyes.
A half-dozen
small figures emerge from the deep shadows of a near-by alley, they flitter
nervously and rapidly as they make their way across the street toward the
unmoving child. They pause and circle about him, as if examining
their prey. They make no sound except the occasional scrape of a
foot against the filthy street. One small shadow-figure gestures
to the rest and immediately four of the figures grab the unconscious child
and carry him away into the deep shadows that fill the alleys.
The glowing eyes of
a pitch-black raven watch all this, totally unseen, from a near-by rooftop.
The raven's eyes are like bright red coals, and they seem to smirk bemusedly
at the child's fate.
Another pair of eyes
appear as sharp, thin white slits in the alley as the children bring the
unconscious boy near. There is the slight sound of a man shifting
his position upon an empty wine barrel, and in the thick shadows a grin
is barely evident by the glitter of white teeth. The shadow-children
lay the boy at his feet and slowly back away, still facing him.
"Very good," the man
says. His voice is terrifying. "This is the one I have been
searching for so long. I know it."
These last few words
somehow permeate the boy's delirium, and he opens his eyes. Thin
white slits that look like razors in the shadows stare into his, and he
screams.
Jack. The name
conjures many, many memories. He was a fierce one, Jack, fierce and
terrifying. But it was Jack who gave me my life, who taught me so
much of what I know, of what I have become.
Damn him.
Much like me, Jack
was to be despised. He was the embodiment of what is black and evil
about the human heart. Kraz would have liked him very much.
There have been times when I wondered if they were not truly, somehow,
one and the same. Jack was a thief, but not just any thief.
Jack was the best. He was a cold and calculating killer, a thief
with a sharp eye and faster hand.
But most sharp and
deadly about Jack was not his dagger. It was his mind. He was
a wonderful teacher. He inspired love and fear and respect, much
like Camir. No, Jack did not have a gentle touch and warm demeanor.
Quite the contrary, he was cold and almost inhuman. His touch was
to be feared and avoided because often it brought death. But Jack
emanated a sort of aura, an ambiance surrounded him that impressed upon
anyone near the greatness of the man.
Jack brought me under
his wing with an eagerness that surprised his other underlings and students.
He called me his "prize," as if somehow he knew just what I was to achieve
in the next three centuries. I do not know if it is ironic or not
that I have never told anyone his name or what he did to me. He has
never been immortalized as the teacher of the Master of Thieves, but then
I think that is how would have liked it. I am yet torn between angering
his spirit by telling the world of his existence or keeping him a silent
shadow of my past.
Despite his great
talent of teaching the black ways of thievery, none of Jack's lessons in
the stench-filled alleys of the Dark Quarter could equal those taught by
experience. Jack kept an entourage of at least a dozen children,
and we were sent out into the streets unceasingly. We returned with
every catch and treasure to lay at Jack's feet. Why did we bequeath
these riches? The reason is quite simple, as any street urchin will
tell you: survival. Jack took care us, he taught us. He was
the father and mother none of us had. But most of all Jack protected
us. From what? Other thieves. Particularly those of the
Guild.
That damnable Thieves'
Guild.
The day had dawned
that early fall morning with a beautiful spread of crimson across the eastern
horizon. It was as if Sol had been assassinated just before the dawn,
and His blood was spreading across the sky. I stood upon a rickety
and oft-patched rooftop and watched this spectacle in wonderment.
It had been a full year since I had wandered deliriously into the Dark
Quarter and had been found by Jack's pack of children.
I was one of them
now, and it was evident to all who knew me. My clothes had been dyed a
deep black, and were kept in excellent repair. I also had a set with
which I wondered the streets at day, tattered and filthy, the look of a
true street urchin. Jack knew the value of a successful disguise, moreover
the value of not being seen. Invisibility is the most desirable thing
to a thief, and I had learned the art well for a child of six years.
As I stared at the
glowing red dawn, it reminded me of a huge inferno in the sky. My
hands flexed involuntarily and I felt the sudden, unexplainable urge to
scream at it and flee. But calmness and grace were what had been
taught to me for a whole year now. I blinked once and then slowly
looked away from the sunrise to the street below. There was little
activity; the Dark Quarter was a place of the night. In the shadows
and darkness that existed only without the sun the people of the Dark Quarter
lived and thrived. But beyond the wall which certain fools thought
kept us in, the city was coming slowly to life. There the rest of
humanity was waking from their night of dreams and fears and following
the patterns to which they clung with blind and determined faith.
What they thought was their savior - their predictability - would destroy
them, this I had learned already.
But today a lesson
was to be learned. A very important lesson.
The sweet whistle
of a blue jay came softly from the alley below. I swiftly and silently
scuttled to the edge of the roof. It bent dangerously under my slight
weight, but I knew it would not break. A young girl of pale skin
and long dark hair stood below, a soft smile upon her face. This
was Leila. The girl had attached herself to me the instant that Jack
had brought me under his wing of black tutelage; she followed me much like
a puppy would its owner. Her adoration and constant presence annoyed
me at times. But Leila was a good companion, and an excellent thief
- one of Jack's best.
Without a word I leapt
from the roof top and landed with a slight crunch of gravel next to Leila.
She nodded at me with the ubiquitous smile on her face and I nodded in
return, my features solemn and grave in comparison. We walked swiftly
on the street, moving from the alley where we slept most nights to the
old and apparently ill-used storage shed behind a tavern. I say "apparently"
because the large shed was certainly well-used, by Jack and his entourage.
Leila and I squeezed our tiny bodies quickly through a hole in a fence,
and kept to the dying shadows as we entered Jack's shed.
"Why?" came Jack's
serpentine voice. Every eye in the shed was upon Leila and me, and
I felt a shiver of fear slide down my spine. Jack sat upon a beautiful
chair on a raised dias at one end of the shed, and now he was leaning forward,
resting his chin upon one hand and looking at us with a terrible expectancy.
I chewed my bottom
lip for a moment, knowing that not answering would mean sever punishment,
even for me, Jack's favorite student. "I - "
"I slept late," Leila
blurted.
I looked at her with
astonishment, and then swiftly shut my mouth. Far be it from me to
take the blame from anyone, whether she deserved it or not.
Jack's eyes narrowed
and he scowled. The look sent another shiver of fear down my spine.
"Never again," he said. Jack was very economical with words, with
sound in general. He said very little, and did very much. "People
will not always remember what you say," he had said once. "But they
will always remember what you do." He had then proceeded to very
swiftly slay one of his students who had disobeyed him. In three
hundred years, while a few of his words have been obscured by the passing
centuries, I have not forgotten a single action of Jack's.
Leila and I nodded,
acknowledging the severity of the maxim/threat, and quickly joined the
rest of the silent throng. We all met every morning in Jack's shed
before we each took our different paths among the common-folk of the city.
Sometimes this was the time for a lesson, or just to be sure that all of
us were alive, or for a warning.
"The Guild was heavy
with action last night," Jack said. I nodded. I had noted that the
usually dark, silent fortress which held the Thieves' Guild of Near Capital
had been alive with noise and light the previous night. "Be aware."
The Guild was Jack's
mortal enemy, for what original reason none had ever been told. But
the present reason was clear enough to us. Thieving in the Great
Citadel was heavily organized, and that was done solely by the Guild.
The entire city was the Guild's turf, and any who did not swear allegiance
to Guild was subject to persecution. Put simply, any non-member of
the Guild caught thieving within the city walls was swiftly put to death.
A member's dagger was the ultimate judge and final executioner. We
of Jack's entourage were more than aware of this, and not a few of us had
fallen prey to the jackals of the Guild.
Each of us took a
moment to digest Jack's warning and then, with a slight hand-signal from
our leader, the dozen children swiftly melted away into the dawn's shadows.
Dressed in the rags of homeless street urchin, we each drifted on our own
chaotic paths into the heart of the bustling town. Jack made sure
that we did not have turf or keep a regular beat, that was the fastest
way to be caught by the Guild, the swiftest way to death.
Leila stayed close
to my side, like usual, though not a word passed between us the entire
morning. It had occurred to me that we looked much like siblings:
our pale skin and dark hair, our lithe movements and mournful eyes.
Though she always beamed when she looked at me, I had seen the sadness
in Leila's eyes, a terrible mourning for something lost and never retrievable.
When we sat upon the street and begged for scraps she let that mournfulness
shine through. I looked like a real street urchin, a broken soul,
but there was a fire in me that I knew shined through my facade.
But Leila... Leila was a true broken soul. This I knew very well,
but I had nothing but contempt for the little pest none the less.
The entire day passed
with hardly a word between us. Little nods and gestures where all
that was needed or used on the street as we wove among the crowd, filling
small hidden pockets with the baubles and coins that we slipped from the
unwary.
As dusk approached,
the streets began to empty slowly and we melted away with the crowds.
Leila and I enjoyed a few minutes respite before returning to Jack with
the
day's catch. Once again the sky was filled with brilliant reds and
oranges, a giant fire in the heavens. I looked away from it, the
sight filling me with a great dread, an almost unspeakable horror.
"Kae," Leila began,
"what's it with you an' dawn an' dusk?"
"What?"
"Every morning you
stand up on that roof an' watch the sunrise, and usually you stare at the
sunset until it's 'bout completely dark. But I always watch your
eyes. You look like you're gonna cry."
"I don't know what
you're talkin' 'bout."
Leila shook her head
and looked back at the sunset. "It's very beautiful," she said.
"Beauty can be deadly,"
I murmured, recalling Jack's teachings.
"What?"
"Nothing."
A few minutes of total
silence passed. My wary eyes looked everywhere except at the sunset.
Out of the corner of my eye I could see that terrible fire was consuming
the clouds near the horizon. I shivered.
A sudden and unnatural
shift in a shadow caught my attention, and I touched Leila lightly on the
shoulder. She looked in the same direction as I was looking - we
dared not point. Then she nodded. We began to move silently
away, keeping to the shadows. The motions of thieves were not alien
to us, and we prayed that we had not been seen.
"Do you really think
you can run from us?" came a gruff voice from across the street.
A lanky man in dark clothes emerged from the shadows into the swiftly-dying
sunlight. Leila and I quickened our step. "We're everywhere,
kids."
I bumped suddenly
into Leila's unmoving figure, and looked with apprehension before us.
Two more figures moved in the shadows. I listened carefully in the
near-silence of the empty street, damning the lack of crowds.
"Kae." Leila's voice
was full of fear.
I shook my head and
drew my dagger. It had not been bloodied yet, but I had known there
would come a day...
"Put the blade away,
kid," the lanky man said. In the dim light I could see the beginnings
of a beard on his drawn face. "You won't get a chance
to use it."
My ears told me that
crossbows were being loaded. I felt Leila's hand grab my shirt and
pull me a little closer; she had heard them, too.
"Kae," she said again.
Her voice was low so that only I could hear her. "We can't fight."
I gave one last, desperate
look about us, keeping my dagger drawn and poised. The lanky man
did not come any closer, and I could not find the crossbow-men. "Run,
Leila," I said. "Run!"
With a liquid swiftness
Leila and I ran away into the nearest shadows. I heard the loud clack
of crossbows being fired and I felt my heart skip a beat when a quarrel
landed not a hand's-breath to my side. Leila was a few steps before
me, and I followed her almost blindly. She knew the streets better
than I, she had been born here. My ears told me that three others
were giving chase. Leila had headed into an alley so the crossbows
couldn't follow us, but knives and daggers in the hands of pursuers were
just as dangerous if we were caught.
Adrenaline coursed
through my veins as we fled through a series of back streets and tight
alleys. We must have run more than an hour with no specific direction,
only the intent to lose the three men behind us. But they were not
easily deterred. Time seemed to have lost its meaning, I lived only
from one moment to the next, knowing that any one of them could be my last.
After what seemed forever I saw the wall of the Dark Quarter swing into
view as we rounded a corner. I immediately recognized the desperate
necessity. The Dark Quarter was filled with thieves allied with the
Guild. But it also held our only hope: Jack.
With a renewed determination
Leila and I sprinted for the wall. We jumped onto a few cases and
pulled ourselves over. But it this was a common way over, and our
hunters followed without losing a beat. Alleys in the Dark Quarter
were even more thin and treacherous than the rest of the city, but this
did not seem to hinder the men following Leila and I, and my ears pounded
even louder as we wound our way to Jack's shed.
No! I thought suddenly.
We can't lead them to Jack! There was always the possibility that
one of the thieves behind us might slip away before Jack could kill him.
And then the Guild would know where Jack would be. And then Jack
would be very angry.
A protruding edge
of a crate caught my foot and spilled me onto the ground. I heard
the heavy pounding of footsteps draw closer behind me. Leila's tread
became unsure for a moment. "Run, Leila!" I yelled as I leapt to
my feet and drew my dagger. "Run!" With a grim and morbid determination
I turned to face the three thieves. They had their gleaming weapons
drawn and ready. It was a lost fight before it had ever begun, and
I knew that, but I was buying time for Leila. I saw the lanky man
grimace, baring a crooked row of filthy, black teeth, and I scowled at
him.
Suddenly I felt a
tight grip upon my arm, and a scream caught itself violently in my throat
as I was yanked aside. I was thrown across an unlit room and watched
as a smooth shadow rippled out onto the street. There was the flash
of steel in the starlight and the gurgle of three throats being sliced.
Leila's hand
found mine in the thick darkness. "Kae," she whispered. "Gods,
Kae, what's going on?"
I remained silent, listening for anything from the street outside.
Someone had just saved us, that was evident. But who? And why?
A million questions and worries assailed my mind. The adrenaline
was still coursing through my veins, and I quickly stood, my dagger still
drawn and ready.
"Kae." Leila's
voice warned, but I did not listen.
The liquid shadow
slipped back into the room. I smelled spilt blood, and cold calculation.
"Put it away." Jack's voice cut through the darkness like a wicked
knife. I flinched; his anger was more than apparent. If Jack
had ever been livid, it was now. I heard his dagger slam back into
its sheath and I felt his strong grip find my arm. In a deathly silence
I was dragged out onto the street. Leila tried to follow, but Jack
shoved her aside. She remained upon the ground, looking at me with
deeply worried eyes.
Jack dragged me down
the street in silence, the cool autumn air drifting through my ragged clothing.
In a few minutes we had reached his shed and he tossed me upon the floor.
He lit a single candle and placed it in the center of the floor.
His features seemed almost demonic in the dim light, and I shivered.
Jack kneeled down across the candle from me and stared into my eyes.
I remained silent.
Fear had gripped me tightly by the chest and refused to release me.
"You wonder why I
do not direct my anger at Leila," Jack said, "for she was the one who was
bringing them here."
I blinked at the unconscious
truth in his words, then nodded slowly.
"Two reasons: one,
you must learn of injustice; two, you owe her one for this morning."
I blinked.
"Do you think I do
not know when someone tells me a lie?!" Jack demanded. "Do you think
I do not know about your reveries with the sunrise?"
I merely swallowed.
Jack had cut through my deceit like the thin veil he had shown me it was.
"But that is not important
now," Jack said, and again I blinked at him. "There is something
you must learn." His face was stern and grave. His cold eyes
bore into mine and I shivered with the intensity of his voice. The
incredible necessity of his words were impressed upon me in a moment's
time.
Jack remained motionless
for a few moments, and my gaze stayed upon him. He did not move a
single muscle; I do not think he even breathed. Soon my childish
impatience began to grow within me, slowly overwhelming the reverence Jack
had burned into me all those months. I noticed that a few flies -
flies of all things - had been attracted to the heat and light of the single
candle and buzzed incessantly about. I had opened my mouth to question
when Jack's hand darted from its rest by his side. It moved with
such speed and deadly swiftness that I had jumped away from the motion.
The buzz of a fly
could be heard as its minute, fragile wings brushed Jack's stark-black
glove.
"Swift fly," Jack
said. His severe tone and cold, impressive glare impressed themselves
upon me once again. "Live fly."
Once again Jack fell
motionless, eyes staring straight ahead, focused upon infinity. I
felt every muscle in my body tense in anticipation. I knew this time
that he would move. I thought myself to be a fast learner.
A second time Jack's hand whipped out from his side, whistling though the
air. His entire arm resembled a striking snake - except no snake
could move that fast.
The buzzing of another
fly was heard for a fraction of a moment and then its cessation filled
the air like a thunderclap. Jack kept his closed fist about a hand-span
from his chest. "Slow fly," he said, his eyes boring again into mine.
With a sudden, graceful, and minute motion Jack's hand tensed. Then
he spread his fingers wide, and the small shiny body of a fly fell to the
floor. It landed with an eerie silence. I shivered not from
the cool air, but from the dread with which the silence filled me.
"Dead fly."
I rose to my haunches
as if to flee, but I stared at the dead fly, completely fascinated and
horrified. My gaze remained upon it for what seemed hours.
My morbid, terrified attention was so pure that I hardly noticed when Jack
left me: a small child sitting upon his haunches staring at a dead fly
with an intensity so incredible one might think it held the answer to the
mystery of life.
To me, then, it did.
Swift fly: live fly; slow fly: dead fly.
Slow fly: dead
fly.
Dead fly.
A part of me died that
night with that fly upon the floor of Jack's shed. And there I do
believe it has forever remained, just like that fly: dead and forgotten,
brushed away the next morning by some unknown. It is true that with
knowledge we become more like the gods. But we also become more human,
for with knowledge we truly become mortal. How I long now for that
knowledge of impending death, for presently I am steeped in the bitterness
of black immortality.
But there was more
that my life in the Great Citadel had to teach me, much more. I find
it sad that such lessons should come to one so young.
Winters in Stephen
are merciless and harsh. Clouds come with swift and terrible winds
from the south and they press tightly up against the Border Mountains to
the North, spreading until they fill the enormous valley that is this kingdom.
And from the month of Snowbirth until the slow coming of Spring there they
stay, giving only brief glimpses of a crystal-blue sky. Cold permeates
even the thick and fertile soil. To the homeless this is a time of
enormous toil and suffering. Winter in the Dark Quarter is called
"The Days of the Dead," for the pickings are thin and meager. Only
the strongest and most cunning survive the winter.
I had always viewed
Leila as such: strong and cunning. Her small, lithe body was the
epitome of that of a thief. Her movements were graceful and economical,
like Jack's. She was obviously very good: she was one of the oldest
among us - almost ten. And Jack liked her very much. If had
not been for her odd attachment to me! I began to very much despise
Leila and her questions of me about the sunrise and sunset, and about from
where I had come. She kept with me like a doting puppy, and my soul
longed for aloneness, for solitude amongst the thriving, bustling, crowded
masses of Near Capital. The great humanity infringed upon my consciousness.
I began to long for the time when I was in the forest with Camir, just
the two of us and the great, silent presence of nature. Sad, a child
of six being nostalgic.
With the coming of
winter, Leila and I huddled together closely at night to keep warm.
I have very fond memories of those nights, being close to another warm
body, feeling some sort of veil of contentedness. But that
was before the conversation would begin. Gods! Leila's incessant
conversation, her unending row of questions! I wished to sleep, to
rest. She wished to talk. I awoke every morning to watch the
sunrise with a scowl upon my face, and often it felt like the cold air
froze it there all day. Some days it was amazing that I did not turn
on Leila in my anger at her. Yet she always persisted, and always
had a smile for me. Whether she was in pain or not, whether things
were going well or poorly, she always smiled at me. I found that
I could never attack that smiling visage.
One day late in the
winter, after a long and relatively fruitless morning, we retired to a
favorite spot: a small shadowed area near the Black Dragon Inne.
We both knew the danger in such a fixed place, but still we went there
whenever we were near - which was at least once a week. We rested
our weary backs against the thick stone of the Inne's foundation, huddled
close together to stay warm. I closed my eyes in fatigue. Days
were very long then. Long and hard.
I felt Leila rest
her head against my shoulder, and I put my head upon hers. What a
sight we must have been there! It would have been most believable
that we were siblings. In a moment Leila's hand found mine.
I had no such feelings for her, but I was too tired that afternoon to shake
her grip away.
We sat there in silence
for a few minutes, letting our strength return for what promised to be
a very long evening. I was quite sure that Leila was asleep, so I
forced myself to remain awake, opening my eyes every few moments to watch
whatever was going on.
"Kae," came Leila's
sweet voice.
I was startled at
the sound, and drudged myself out of my reverie. "What?"
"Kae, have you ever
wondered what'll happen to us?"
There was a tone to
that question which I did not like. Young as I was, I had quickly
developed a good ear and a healthy suspicion of anything anyone said.
Leila's question disturbed me. "No," I said after a moment.
"Why?"
"I look at all these
people in the city," Leila said. "All these grown-ups and their kids.
Their lives are... normal."
"Their lives are nothing!"
I retorted, swiftly falling into Jack's greatest lesson, repeating him
almost verbatim: "They do the same thing every day, live the same little
life over and over again. They're nothing but prey."
"But they're so...
stable."
"Nothing is stable,
Leila." That was life's greatest lesson to me.
"They have food and
warmth and families."
"They have nothing
but emptiness, like us, like everybody."
Leila turned to look
into my eyes. "Kae, I'm very tired of all this. All we do is
run and steal and beg. Sometimes I don't know if we're going to live
to see tomorrow, and sometimes I don't want to."
It struck me suddenly
that such thoughts were not very alien to me, but that they should be alien
to any child. But Leila had spoken with a sincerity that could never
be doubted. And so had I.
Leila's grip on my
hand tightened, and for a moment I tightened my grip on hers. I had
never felt so close to anyone before, so open.
So vulnerable.
Immediately I shook Leila's grip from my hand and stood. "Come on,"
I said. "We have work to do." I could hear Leila's soft sigh
as I began to walk away, but ignored the stirring it made in me.
With a few gracious
leaps Leila caught up with me, her heavy breath making a thick white cloud
in the cold air. There was a heavy silence between us, one that I
sensed she wished to break down, one that I clung to with desperation.
But after a few minutes the tension disappeared as Leila and I began to
weave among the thin crowd on the street. This was the real reason
why times were so trying for thieves in the winter: the lack of prey.
Few people cared to venture out during these bitter cold days, and if they
did it was only the necessities and then the hurried straight back home.
No one tarried on the streets, talking amicably with others and not watching
their purse. Leila and I spent the entire afternoon without a moment's
respite in search of anything to steal. We found little, by evening
our pockets were lined with only a few coppers snatched from a drunk and
few scraps of bread. I felt a weary sense of defeat fill me as we
began to return to Jack. He did not like it when our catch was thin,
which it always was in the winter. He gave us no slack for these
meager months.
I scowled at Leila's
tender smile as we walked briskly down the street, our shadows long before
us and deep reds playing upon the thick clouds on the horizon. I
withdrew back into my own thoughts, damning the cold, the meager pickings
of that day. I was determined to make myself miserable.
Suddenly, Leila's
hand found mine, and she pulled me violently to one side. I was yanked
down a side street and quickly away from the Dark Quarter. "What're
you doing?" I growled through my gritted teeth. It was dangerous
to be out here late at night and Leila knew it.
"You'll see," she
said. There was a devious smile on her face that did not give me
good omens. What was she doing? I wondered. The bitter cold
snapped at my cheeks and cut through my ragged clothing as Leila led me
through a maddening series of alleys and side streets until we where far
into the heart of the Peasant Quarter. I was quite lost, but Leila
seemed to know her way around only too well. At every moment I tried
to pull away, to leave this child to her own foolishness, but Leila kept
a tight grip upon my little hand.
Finally she stopped
before a rickety, run-down shack that melted quite well into all the others
just like it in the neighborhood. I looked up and down the empty
street, incredibly apprehensive. Guild thugs roamed these streets
at all hours, and Leila knew it.
"There," Leila said,
pointing to the shack before us.
"What about it?"
My patience had long ago grown very thin, and now I was very ready to snap.
Leila's foolishness had gone just too far. My, what a young fool
I have been.
"Look inside."
I looked at Leila,
and saw that her eyes truly glowed. She seemed to be deeply lost
in some reverie, thoughts and memories spilling through her mind.
A faint smile touched her lips.
For whatever reason,
which I still do not know, I took a few cautious steps and looked inside
the single small window. Inside a family of six huddled about a table
that was clearly rotting. Handmade plates and cups were set neatly
upon the table, an odd thing of order in a scene of filth and chaos.
The four children looked with hungry but cheerful eyes to a girl far too
young to be their mother as she brought a pot from over the stove.
Very carefully she poured a single ladle-full of thin stew onto each plate.
After she had given herself some - notable less than what she had given
the other children - she paused before giving it to the giant of a man
who sat at the end of the table. His sad an empty eyes gazed off
into some distant infinity, a pained grimace fixed upon his face.
The young girl gave the man some stew - two ladle-fulls - and then sat
silently at her place. None of the children talked, though they passed
mischievous smiles to one another. After a few moments, the man ended
his reverie and began eating, smiling at his children occasionally as they
pried him with questions. Every few moments his and the eldest girl's
eyes would meet and they would exchange a knowing glance.
I felt Leila's head
lightly bump against mine. "Well?" she asked.
"Well what?"
"Isn't it beautiful?"
"Beautiful?"
I could not believe my ears. She called this miserable scene poverty
beautiful? It disgusted me. The eldest girl was only in her
early teens and the shack seemed ready to fall apart with the lightest
touch. The children were thin and sickly. She called this beautiful?!
"Beautiful and so
sad," Leila said. "Just look at them."
"I have."
Leila paused for a
moment, studying the scene inside. "Kae you don't understand."
"No, I don't."
"Those people in there,
they're a family."
"They're starving!"
"But they have each
other," Leila retorted. "It's probably just as cold in there as it
is out here, but they don't care. They have their love to warm them.
Just look at those kids, Kae. They're smiling. They have each
other." She paused for a moment. "Which is more than you and
I can say."
"We have each other,"
I immediately replied. I could hardly have believed my ears.
"Do we, Kae?"
Leila swiftly turned her heel and strode away from me.
I stood staring after
her for a few moments, completely shocked at those past few words.
Finally I realized that she was almost out of my sight, so I began to run
after her. "Leila!" I called. "Hey, Leila. Wait up!"
She continued to stride
quickly away from me, pouting.
Suddenly a terrible
dread filled me, and I turned my slow run into a sprint. "Leila!"
I called, alarm and desperation filling my voice. "Leila, wait!"
Finally, Leila stopped
and turned to face me. Her arms were crossed before her chest and
she tapped her foot. There was a look of pure disdain on her face,
the first time I had ever seen her not smile at me.
A tall figure suddenly
loomed from around the corner of a building, towering above and just behind
Leila. I saw the flash of a steel in the dim sunset-light and screamed.
"NO!!" My sprint became even faster as I saw the blade being swiftly
lowered into Leila's back "Leila!!" I screamed. The young girl crumpled
like a rag doll with the force of the blow, crimson blood spurting onto
the street. My dagger was out of its sheath before I could even think
about what I was doing, and I sprung at the attacker with a ferocity that
would have rivaled Jack's. My blade struck home and I heard the man
emit a strangled squeak as he fell to the ground, his throat cut wide open.
I towered over the man's corpse for a few moments, snarling at him in my
rage. It was my first; and it was futile revenge. The hatred
swiftly drained from me.
I heard the sharp
cry of a raven and looked up in great surprise. No birds where ever
about in the cold of winter. Yet a pitch-black raven had perched
atop the building beside me and was staring at me eyes that I knew were
not truly its own. I shivered and looked back to the dead man at
my feet.
Finally I turned away
from him, no longer able to look at my gruesome and fatal handiwork, only
to find Leila's dead body before me. The strike had been well-placed:
right between the shoulder blades. I knelt down beside her, a tremendous
shock coming over me. With gentle and cautious hands I turned her
over and gazed at the perfect face with its pale complexion. I could
not feel anymore. Both the scene we had just watched back in the
peasant's shack and her words spilled into my mind. I carefully gathered
Leila's body in my arms and carried back through town, some unknown force
guiding me out of the twisting labyrinth through which she had led me.
I do not remember
anything until I found myself inside Jack's shed. Leila's blood had
covered my thin garments, soaking my skin. Jack looked at me with
saddest eyes I had ever seen from him, and then silently took me away from
the shed to what was probably the only patch of open land in all of the
Dark Quarter. There, he took Leila from my arms and lay her gently
on the ground. For a moment, I did not know what we were going to
do, but when Jack handed me a rusty spade I realized. With a grim
and mournful determination we set to digging the grave. Jack did
not say a single word to me, and the cold air seemed to amplify the silence
between us.
Finally we were done,
and Jack lay Leila in the hole. He paused, and I opened my mouth
to speak, but with an up-turned hand he stopped me. It was appropriate:
only silence at a thief's funeral. Especially one of such stature
and ability as Leila.
After a few moments,
in which I felt only a numb aching, we filled the grave. I could
not look at the corpse, and I noted that Jack averted his eyes as well.
After we had filled the grave, Jack found a board and shoved it deep into
the ground as a marker.
Then he drew his dagger
and grasped my wrist, turning my palm up. I was too shocked to stop
him when he slit my finger and placed it upon the board. I did not
move at first, unsure as to what I was supposed to do. Jack took
my hand and began to spell an "L." As illiterate as I was I recognized
Leila's name and somehow even managed to spell it - with my own blood.
At last, Jack left
me alone by the grave. His usually-silent tread was heavy and sorrowful
as he moved across the open earth. It struck me in my numbness as
odd that Jack would be sorrowful. The grave marker finally caught
my attention, and I kneeled down to stare at it. Thoughts of Leila
rushed through my head, and I was powerless to stop the deluge. I
could see her perfect face, smiling at me, and I could hear the words of
our last conversation, incredibly poignant:
"We have each other."
"Do we, Kae?"
Leila was beautiful,
I thought. As beautiful as any child ever could be. Her long
black hair sharply and perfectly set off her pale skin. Once I had
seen the wares of a merchant from Ruun: finely crafted pieces of whale
bone. The pure silk white of the those ivory figurines was the only
thing
I had ever seen that resembled Leila's fair skin. Every movement
she had made had been filled with grace and precision; beauty showed through
with every step and twist of the wrist. Her voice had been like the
sweetest music - not even the bard's most enthralling ballad could have
ever equalled it. Her eyes had been deep pools of forest green, which
often reminded me not of my childhood home, but of my reposing fortnight
with Camir.
Kneeling on the cold,
hard ground before that sickly board which served as such a sacrilegious
gravestone, a realization cut me like a knife.
Leila had loved me.
With every graceful movement and beautiful and shining smile she had portrayed
such. She had protected me as much from the Watch and the Guild as
she had protected me from myself; those cold mornings when I had awoke
with no other wish than to see my last sunrise, it had been Leila who had
dragged me back to life. She had been the only one who had been able
to deal with my dour moods and wild temper that flashed as suddenly as
lightning and struck with as much force. Even Jack could not have
stood me then, but Leila would remain patiently by my side, her dark green
eyes and beaming smile cajoling me back to calmness. In her love
she was most beautiful.
And I had ignored
her, I had shrugged her off and pushed her away like some petty nuisance.
She had been little more than a fly to me, of little importance and worth
little attention. That knowledge, the unappreciation of Leila's wonderful
beauty, struck me like physical blow to the chest. For the first
time that night, tears filled my eyes. They felt hot and burned as
they streaked down my cheeks. A sobbing cry escaped my throat.
My hands reached out and grasped the top of Leila's rickety gravemarker
to steady myself as I lurched forward. My tears fell in a steady
stream, dropping like rain upon Leila's grave.
A sudden drop of cold
liquid fell upon the back of my neck. Startled, I looked up to the
overcast sky as the first rainfall of the year began. A bitter, stinging
rain fell to the ground in a great torrential downpour. I was drenched
in a matter of moments, but I did not care. The sky had joined me
in my grief. Though I could not see Her, I knew somehow that Luna
was crying with me.
Kneeling there, I
remained staring at the sky, blinking occasionally as a raindrop fell in
my eye. The bitter cold of the rain filled me, and again my gaze
returned to Leila's gravemarker. The blood with which I had written
her name was swiftly melting, mingling with the tears and rain upon the
ground.
"Kae."
Leila's elegant voice
was the last thing I had expected to hear. My head snapped up in
surprise, and I saw what I knew was an angel. Untouched by the inundating
rain, Leila stood before me. Her ivory skin glowed, and her entire
being was surrounded by an aura which I could only think of as holy.
"Leila!" I cried,
staggering to my feet. Words clogged in my throat. "Leila."
"No." Leila
put out her hand to stop me. "Don't come any closer. I don't
have much time."
I gave her a puzzled
look.
"He's after me, Kae."
Leila looked down at her hands. "Kae, I want to thank you."
"Thank me?"
A million questions assailed my young mind. She had come here to
thank me?
"You realized, Kae.
I love you."
"I love you," I echoed.
My eyes met her and they began to well with tears.
"Don't cry, Kae,"
Leila said. The beauty of her voice dried my eyes. "Do you
love me, Kae?" The question was desperate, and suddenly I felt torn.
Did I love her? How could I answer such a question? I did not
know.
"Do you love me, Kae?" Leila asked again. "Please."
The musicality and
tenderness in her voice reached inside me, inside the wound that my recent
realization had made. "I -"
Leila's sudden scream
cut me short as a tower of flames engulfed her. A glowing, unearthly
red surrounded Leila, its roar swiftly drowning out her discordant scream.
My eyes grew wide, and I felt my limbs grow limp. I could feel the
enormous heat of the flames upon my face despite the freezing rain.
A scream crawled slowly
up my throat, and erupted with all my pain and grief. "Leila!!"
Terror shook my body and tears rolled down my cheeks.
Finally, after what
seemed a torturous forever, the flames ceased, and the beating of the rain
came to my ears again with a sudden clap. Filled with a sudden sense
of utter emptiness and aloneness, I sank to my knees. I had done
enough crying that evening, yet sobs still racked me as I lay there upon
the cold ground of Leila's grave.
The next morning, in
a wild daze brought on by grief and shock, I wandered slowly away from
that cemetery in the center of the Dark Quarter. The jostled bustlings
of a city coming to life were a dull and liquid cacophony in my unlistening
ears. I wandered aimlessly for most of the morning.
Then I saw him: that
merchant from Ruûn. I knew it was him from his wares.
Figurines of beautiful ivory stood glinting in the mid-morning sun, surrounded
by a sort of aura. The figurines drew me as if I had been magically
charmed. I stood at the merchant's stand, staring at a single finely-crafted
figurine which stood not much taller than a finger. It had long,
straight hair and a beautiful face. Some hand, in some far away and
alien place, had crafted me my Leila. For a moment I chuckled at
fate - for this certainly couldn't be chance.
My hand reached out
and wrapped itself around the small figurine. It felt warm and familiar.
I remembered the time when Leila had first taken my hand - the shocking
warmth of her touch.
Suddenly I felt the
merchant eyes gazing upon me and I swiftly dropped the figurine as I looked
to him. For a moment I flinched to dart away into the crowd.
"Wait." His
voice was deep and commanding, yet gentle and old. I could not have
disobeyed if I had wanted to. "You need it," he said. "Take
it."
I looked at him more
intently now, puzzled by his words. He was a short man, and very
old. Though his face betrayed no wrinkles of age, his beard was pure
white and flowed beyond his waist. And his eyes... his eyes were
a pure and distinct blue that betrayed wisdom and intelligence. The
merchant, despite his alien clothes and wares, was hauntingly and disturbingly
familiar.
"Take it," he said
again, motioning to the figurine which glowed almost magically in the sunlight.
My eyes never leaving
him, I reached my hand out warily and snatched the ivory figurine in my
nimble fingers. I held it close to my chest as the merchant's eyes
remained locked with mine.
"What is your name,
child?" he asked.
I did not reply at
first, but something within me felt an odd obligation. "Kae," I said.
"Just 'Kae'?" the
merchant mused. "Good. Just 'Kae'."
My eyes grew wide with sudden
recognition, and I turned swiftly and fled.
That figurine rests
presently in my pocket, a physical reminder of lessons learned and a person
loved. Every time I have seen him, I have thanked Stephen for making
sure that I found it. He merely shakes his head smiles. "Kae,"
he says, "you are still very human." I hope he is right, but I feel
that is not so.
There are a few other
trinkets of similar value in my pocket. Ironic that unimaginable
wealth and riches have passed through my hands, yet I keep only the nearly
worthless things.
Many a bard sings
a love song, captivating the entire audience. And I have listened
to them for three centuries in many a tavern. I always wish to yell
at them: "You speak of love? I know more of love than you ever will!
Love comes in many faces, in many ways, and it does not always warm your
heart. Often it leaves you cold and alone on a empty street, staring
at a corpse. The coldness of the rain which drowns you matches the
coldness in you your heart. And you wonder whether or not that corpse
is you."